I will either find a way or make one
by My Beautiful Ending
Summary: "Because we're just alike, you and I. Except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels." Either be one thing, or the other. That's what Jim believed. If you're going to be or do something, commit -go all the way. That's why Sherlock was boring. He was trying to be something he wasn't. Angels could be completely enthralling if they were actually angels.
1. to err is human

EXPLANATION TIME! I saw this prompt on tumblr (it's apparently originally from livejournal), but I couldn't find any fics that seemed to match up with it -and I loved this prompt; it's my preferred relationship for Molly and Jim. So I decided to fill it myself. The prompt is below for you reading pleasure :) Please enjoy my attempt to do it justice.

"I love this pairing. Desperately. But I can't seem to find fic that really…exemplifies what it is I love about it. I want Molly to be sweet and kind and just a bit awkward but most of all good, and I want Moriarty to be evil and maniacal and utterly, inexplicably, devoted to her. I want their relationship to not really have anything to do with their day jobs; Molly loves him and always, always, will be there for him, and he adores her just the way she is and so would never ask her to become involved in his work. And it's difficult, because morality tells her that he's wrong, but devotion keeps her bound to him; because he's wicked and just a touch insane and of course he wants to brag, but he also wants to keep her sheltered from that world." -doodlesinsand on LiveJournal

* * *

**aut viam inveniam aut faciam - I will either find a way or make one**

_errare humanum est –to err is human_

Jim became interested in Sherlock Holmes because they were alike. He got bored with him because Sherlock tried to be something he wasn't. Jim believed if you were going to do something, commit, and go do it. Sherlock wasn't boring because he chose to side with the angels –he was boring because he was a liar.

It was perfectly acceptable to be enthralling if you were actually an angel.

* * *

Upon meeting Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes and most of the world formed the same opinion: awkward, shy, and pliable. Usable, dedicated, and just a bit desperate.

They saw her at her job, doing autopsies and other things that weren't her responsibility without complaint, or at the market buying cat food and frozen dinners to eat alone. They dismissed her as unremarkable and forgot about her; no inclination sparked to delve any deeper into her life. It wasn't because she tried to hide. Most people just didn't care to look.

_Stupid,_ Jim thought, as he drove down the street of flats at 10 o'clock at night. Molly sat in the passenger's seat, clutching her seatbelt and leaning forward anxiously, staring out into the blackness. _Stupid, stupid._ He was referring to himself.

"It's the one on the corner," Molly said hurriedly, and Jim braked, throwing them both forward.

She quickly unbuckled her seat belt and fumbled for the door, but a figure threw up a window on the second floor of the flat. It shoved something out –a backpack, Jim thought –and then scrambled out of the window to dangle a few seconds before dropping down to the pavement. Molly scrambled out of the car and rushed to the figure that was picking itself up. She checked it for any injuries, hugged it.

_Stupid,_ Jim thought again. He should have found out. He assumed, since she lived alone, that her life was her job. She wasn't seeing anyone. She hadn't been extremely close with her family in recent years… but he still should have gone further back. He should have found out.

It didn't change anything, really, but… she surprised him. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Molly escorted the smaller black shadow to the backseat of Jim-from-IT's small car and got in with it. In the interior light, Jim came face to face with a thin, skinny girl who shared Molly's nose.

"Jim, this is my niece, Kathleen. Kath, this is Jim; I told you about him."

The girl stared at him unhappily.

"Pleased to meet you," Jim-from-IT said, giving her a half smile. "Where to, then?"

"Ah… my flat, I guess. If you don't mind, I mean. Thanks so much for doing this, Jim," Molly said in a rush.

Well, how could a nice guy like Jim-from-IT refuse when the girl he sort of fancies gets a frantic phone call for help? And how could Jim Moriarty refuse without blowing his cover?

"Not a problem," he said, pulling away from the curb.

"Where was Heather when this happened, Kath?" Molly asked.

"Working," the girl said shortly, bitterly. The red mark of a handprint was still visible on her face.

"Did you call the police?"

"No."

Molly dug her phone out of her purse and dialed, pressing her lips together. "Well, I will." Her voice was grim and determined, and she gripped the phone tightly.

Jim inwardly tensed at this change in her behavior. Molly might have been listed as "most likely to be a doormat" under her photo for school, as far as he knew.

"Yes, hello?" she said, clenching her jaw in righteous anger. "I'd like to make a report." She wrapped an arm around Kathleen's shoulders and pulled the smaller girl towards her. The tension in her niece slowly released, and she relaxed against Molly and stared at the road bleakly.

Jim watched her make the call to the police, and knew he had been wrong about Molly. He had thought she was normal –boring, mundane, and ultimately corruptible. But she wasn't. She was good clean though. And he was glad, because this Molly –this pure, selfless Molly –was better than any twisted copy he could make. He didn't even want to try anymore.

His ands clenched on the steering wheel. He'd have to reevaluate his plans, so far as they involved Molly. He would have to rethink a lot.


	2. to the very end

_usque ad finem –to the very end_

Molly could remember Kathleen's birthday very vividly. Her sister Heather had had an emergency C-section at twenty-five weeks, and everyone had been called to the hospital because they weren't sure the baby was going to live. The baby in the ventilator was tiny, a bundle of angles with blue veins and cupid lips. Heather was just seventeen, and Molly was fifteen. Molly was the one who suggested the name Kathleen.

She became Kathleen's babysitter when Heather needed a break. They both continued to live at home when they finished school; Molly was putting herself through University and needed to save all she could, and Heather wasn't about to take a small child away from a family of willing babysitters.

Molly could recall studying for exams in high school and college by the light of Kathleen's night-light. Kathleen never called her "Aunt;" she was always just Molly.

When she got a scholarship to medical school, they found out about their father's failing health; Molly lived at home to help with that. Heather, however, met Roy and moved Kathleen and herself in with him. As that situation deteriorated, she met, in quick succession, Henry, Michael, and Ivan.

Molly watched her niece grow from a bright, happy little girl to a quieter, unhappier older girl with long dark hair and a skinny frame.

She watched herself grow into a shy, quiet woman who had few friends and lots of bills and lots of responsibility. She cared for her dad up until the end when he went into hospice, and she pitched in around the house. She dealt with her mother's mood swings and Kathleen's tantrums about her mother's lack of attention.

She didn't know how to stop her own progression. She would rarely fight for herself. She had a habit of letting life pass her by, as well as potential boyfriends, promotions, and places in long lines. She just didn't see the trouble. In her heart, she might not have believed it was worth it. That she was worth it.

But she would fight for Kathleen.


	3. if you want to be loved, love

**_AN:_ just a note -we've jumped back before the first chapter has happened, but things should proceed (more or less) in chronological order from here. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_si vis amari ama –_if you want to be loved, love

When Molly fell in love, Kathleen was the one who noticed.

"What's happened?" she asked, looking over at Molly from her place at the table, doing her Algebra homework.

Molly grinned at her. "There's a new guy at work –he works with the police. He calls himself a 'consulting detective'. He's really brilliant. He can tell you things about yourself just by looking at you." Of course, the things he had said weren't always what you'd want to hear, but she didn't think he really had a filter. He was bluntly honest, and that was amazing to her.

"You like him?" Kathleen asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I… yeah," Molly admitted, rubbing her nose in embarrassment. She made it a point never to lie to Kathleen. "A little."

"What's it feel like?" she asked, propping her chin up on her hand.

"Like… butterflies in my stomach and …a sort of longing in my chest," Molly said quietly.

"Mum's never said that," Kathleen noted, going back to her homework.

"I suppose it feels different for different people," Molly said, frowning and thinking of her sister who never stayed in a committed relationship for long, due to one reason or another. The same sister that was on a date tonight, which was why Kath was over at Molly's flat.

"Does he like you?"

"Oh… I dunno, Kath," Molly said. "I only just met him."

"Don't sleep with him."

"Sorry?" Molly said, her head snapping up in shock.

"If Mum sleeps with a guy before she's dated him long, they never stay together," Kathleen mumbled.

"…'Kay," Molly said, wondering just what Heather had told her daughter concerning sex. It made her worry. "I'll remember that." She waited a bit, and then said, "Have you seen any boys you like at school?"

"Boys are stupid," Kathleen said, boxing her answer and moving onto a different sheet of paper. "They blow spit wads and sass the teachers."

"Well, they grow up," Molly said with a smile. "And then they turn out lovely."

"Yeah," her niece said, but Molly could tell she didn't mean it.

* * *

When Jim started seeking her out, she told Kathleen.

"This isn't the same guy, is it?" Kath frowned and raised an eyebrow.

"No, it's a different guy. He works in IT at the hospital. He fixed my computer when it went mental." She smiled. "Almost a miracle."

"Do you like him?" Kathleen fixed her with her dark eyes.

"I don't know yet. He's a nice guy." Molly blushed. "And I think he likes me, so… I guess that's flattering." She hesitated, but then said, "He's sort of shy and awkward like me." She knitted her hands together and wondered if it was two-faced of her to admit to herself that she did not find those qualities especially attractive. Not with other people, and not even with herself.

"You're not shy and awkward."

"Not with you, Kath. Or family. But other people make me nervous," Molly admitted.

"Why?" Kathleen was perfectly serious.

"They…." Molly licked her lips and kneaded her hands together. "There's so much about people that's not real –like a front that they put up. It's like they're lying. I don't know what I'm supposed to believe and not believe, and it makes me nervous because I'm not sure of myself."

"Do you have a front?" Kathleen asked, crossing her legs from her position on the couch where she was petting Molly's cat Toby. He was purring in her lap.

"I suppose it might be my awkwardness and shyness," Molly said with a laugh. "If I could get rid of that at work then I suppose I'd be like I am here. However that is," she murmured.

"Sort of restful," Kathleen said. "Honest and restful and lovely."

Something in Molly's heart squeezed, and she beamed. "Thank you, sweetheart." She leaned over to hug Kathleen, and Kathleen let her.


	4. where there is love, there is pain

_ubi amor, ibi dolor- _where there is love, there is pain

When she got home, she curled up on her bed with a bar of chocolate and a sad movie, and made sure there were lots of fuzzy blankets handy as well as tissues. Then she proceeded to put the movie in and make short work of the chocolate.

Honestly, the gay thing didn't hurt as much as the lie.

He had said he liked her. Lie number one. He said that she was special. Lie number two. He said that Sherlock Holmes sounded like a jerk. Like number three.

If he was gay, like Sherlock said… and who was she kidding, Sherlock was never wrong, then he didn't like her like… like that. And why would he bother to say all those things when he wanted to give Sherlock his number?

He had used her and she was so… tired of hurting when people used her.

She lay there in her cocoon of blankets and breathed in the scent of the chocolate and the salt water that was beginning to seep from her eyes. She breathed in slowly to control the sobs that might erupt if she let herself. If the only thing she could control was her breathing, then she would control her breathing. It would be the one thing between her and flying off the handle.

* * *

"You know he was a criminal."

"Sorry, what?" Molly asked, looking up from the mountain of paperwork on her desk. Sherlock stood over her, staring down his long, thin nose.

"You've been rubbing your eyes. Your makeup is smudged. You've been crying," he noted in his empirical way. "Over your 'boyfriend' Jim, I'd say. Well, you can stop crying. He's a consulting criminal."

"Um…" Molly said, extremely confused and very conscious of the balled up tissues in her wastebasket.

"He was responsible for the kidnappings and the explosions, Molly; don't you watch the news?"

"Jim," Molly repeated, squinting at Sherlock. "Are you sure?"

"I was staring right at him with a little red dot on my forehead, Molly; of course I'm sure."

"Oh," she whispered as he walked out of the morgue. "Oh."

Well that was why he had lied, to be sure. That was why he had wanted to get close to Sherlock, not because he was gay… well, he might still be gay, but that's not why he had used her.

"Wonderful," Molly muttered. She had had three dates with a –what was it? Consulting Criminal? –and had talked to him on her blog, and he had come over to her flat and petted Toby and watched Glee… oh, good grief, she had left all those messages on her blog, and then sent him that angry text to say she wouldn't date liars and was ending whatever he thought this was. She, Molly Hooper, had sent an angry text to a criminal.

She wasn't sure whether to be afraid or euphoric.

He had even met Kathleen.

Well, she hadn't picked up on it, Molly mused. Kath was more cynical than she was. Less trusting. If she hadn't seen…

But maybe Kath had seen, and just didn't say anything because she knew Molly liked him.

She resolved to ask Kath.

Then she marveled that she didn't feel like crying all over again. Maybe it was because Jim wasn't even real. She felt more like a sleuth at the moment, trying to figure out his motives and things. She wondered if this was how Sherlock felt all the time.

Then she felt like kicking herself.


	5. now I know what love is

_nunc scio quid sit amor_- now I know what love is

Kathleen was a lean girl, tall for her age, with long dark hair. She hadn't yet developed the curves that come with puberty, and the previous braces and current retainers on her teeth made her feel self-conscious. She didn't smile much, and kept her elbows in because she always felt too gangly.

She liked books and music, and she could sing like nobody's business. That was the reason she and Molly had started Glee in the first place –for the music. Molly let herself be drawn in by the plot of the show, but Kath fervently hoped high school was not like the telly let on, and only paid attention to the musical numbers.

For most of her thirteen years, she had lived in a revolving door with Heather, as different men stepped in and out. They moved several times, once even going with a man to America for a year. Nothing was ever fixed; nothing was ever permanent. Heather loved the thrill from her life.

Kathleen hated it.

And when the latest –she would not even think his name –got drunk far too often and actually slapped her –she had made it perfectly clear to her mum that she was moving in with Molly, could she please have her suitcase and her bedspread, please.

She did not stop loving her mother. She didn't think she could. But when Heather gave in after only a few pleas for her to come back, something inside Kath shrunk.

She was not a necessity in her mother's world.

But she realized she was a blessing in Molly's.

* * *

"Your sort-of boyfriend with the funny hair smell and cringing awkwardness?" Kathleen asked. "I didn't particularly like him."

"Why not?" Molly asked, shifting in one of her uncomfortable kitchen chairs. She got them on sale and now she could see why.

"He was a jerk to you," Kath said, like that explained everything, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear.

"Besides that," Molly said, taking another bite of her casserole. She had taken to making up casseroles and dinners like that the night before, and then warming them up when she got home. It was different, being responsible for feeding someone besides herself.

Kathleen shrugged. "He seemed like he was trying too hard. No one's that nice and sweet. Or awkward." She twisted her mouth.

"Well, you've never seen me at work," Molly said with a laugh.

"You're only awkward at work because you see Sherlock there," Kath said bluntly, crossing her arms.

"That's probably true," Molly said, pursing her lips. "I never know when he'll come round, and he always is so… blunt. I get so nervous." She rolled her eyes and smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "But I guess I'm not very good with men, apparently."

Kath shrugged, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"Kath, what's the matter?" Molly scooted forward on her chair. "You look sad."

"Mum says I always look sad and I need to smile more."

"You don't _always_ look sad, but… you look sad more often than you did," Molly said quietly. "Tell me what's wrong, Kathleen."

"Mum called. She's broken up with him and wants me to come back to live with her."

Molly sat there for a moment, blinking. Kathleen had slid so easily into her life –more so than before. She just saw her on a more permanent basis now that she lived in her flat. But she felt the pang of impending loss. "Do you want to go back?" Molly asked slowly.

Kathleen slowly shook her head. "She's just…." She swallowed. "She's just gonna get another guy. And then what if he's worse?" Her voice cracked. "I want to stay with you, Molly; please can I?"

Molly got up and hugged her tightly. "Of course you can," she whispered. "As long as you want. I promise, Kath."

Kathleen leaned into her hug and sighed.

* * *

"Who was that?" Kath demanded, returning from a vending machine run in the bowels of the hospital. Molly had gotten called in on a Saturday, but she had promised Kath they'd go out to dinner when she was finished.

Molly peeled off her blue rubber gloves and wrinkled her nose. "Trevor something. He's a nurse." She really wasn't sure why he had been down in the morgue –he said he had gotten turned around, but turned around and making to the basement?

"He's a creep," Kath said decidedly.

It was on the tip of Molly's tongue to tell her to be kind, or to tell her that he wasn't any such thing, but she changed her mind and said, "Why do you say that?"

"He gels his hair and smirks and I saw him staring at your bottom."

_Oh,_ Molly though, feeling odd and vaguely threatened.

"And he smells like cigarettes. Mom's next to last boyfriend smoked cigarettes and it was gross," Kath said. "They give you cancer and bad breath. I hope he gets cancer."

"Kath," Molly reprimanded, since it was never good to hope someone got cancer. But the rest…

Yes, her niece had a discerning head on her shoulders.

"What did he want here, anyway?" Kath asked, turning her sharp eyes on her aunt.

"He said he got lost. And then he asked me out to coffee," Molly said, feeling very small.

Kath looked astonished. "Well, what did you say?!"

"I said that you and I were already going out to dinner," Molly said, though it had had many more stammers when she had finally spit it out to Trevor Something, Registered Nurse.

Kath looked relieved. "Good!"

This living situation, Molly reflected, was a good thing all around.


	6. I fear greeks even if they bring gifts

**AN: I just shouldn't go on vacay because my brain goes out the window and i think i've done things when i really haven't. AH WELL. So sorry! But please enjoy**

_timeo Danaos et dona ferentes _–I fear greeks even if they bring gifts

"Molly, shouldn't you start getting dressed?" Kath asked, glancing at the clock on the mantle.

Molly's head jerked up from where she was painstakingly wrapping up Sherlock's Christmas present on the kitchen table. "Oh! Thanks, Kath! Could you wrap up the rest of these for me?" She waved at the rest of the presents. "They've got sticky notes on them for who they're for."

"Yeah, sure," Kathleen said, moving to the table as Molly rushed off to her room to change and do her makeup. She wrapped the odds and ends in the green paper with Christmas trees and the striped paper like candy canes, muttering to herself as the paper did not cooperate with her and slapping tape on wherever it gave her trouble. She labeled all the gifts and piled them into a bag as Molly came out of her room with curly hair and in her dress and heels.

"Well, how do I look?" Molly asked, smiling anxiously and turning so Kathleen could see.

"You look… great," Kath said, nodding. "Really nice." But she didn't look a whole lot like herself, in Kath's opinion.

Molly hugged her. "Thanks. And text me if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Kath said as Molly shrugged on her coat. She handed her the bag. "I think I heard the taxi pull up."

"Oh good. See you later!"

"Have a good time," Kathleen said as Molly almost tripped down the stairs.

"Thanks!" she called back.

Kathleen locked the door and let the silence fill the flat on Christmas Eve.

She didn't mind. Molly promised they'd do Christmas in the morning and then go see her mum and grandmother and eat whatever her grandmother had decided to cook for Christmas dinner.

This year was just… different.

She got out the presents she needed to wrap for Molly –a romance novel that actually was interesting when she borrowed it from the library, and a nice blouse in solid pink (Molly mixed too many patterns to suit Kath), two bars of chocolate, and a mix CD she had made, along with a little booklet of IOU's. They said things like, "IOU one night of cooking dinner" or "IOU a week of washing the dishes." Little things around the house that got pushed back because Molly worked and Kathleen didn't like doing them.

She had gotten her mum a bracelet and her grandmother a shawl, and that was it. She didn't think she was very good at presents.

She just conquered her last present with tape as someone knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" she called as she moved to the peephole.

"Delivery," the voice said. She couldn't see him.

Kathleen slipped the chain onto the door and opened it very slowly, prepared to slam it if something bad happened. "Delivery of what?"

"A Christmas present." She could hear the Irish in his voice now as the man in the dark suit smiled at her. "Hello, Kathleen. Remember me?"

"Yeah," Kathleen said, wary but not threatened. Yet. "You're the maybe-gay liar ex-boyfriend." He looked _very_ different –much more posh, much more suave. Much more focused, much more interesting.

He raised an eyebrow. "I've been called a lot of things, but that one's new," he mused. "Not quite correct, though. What are you doing here, poppet?"

"I live here," Kathleen said, frowning.

"What d'you that for?"

" 'Cause I like Molly better than my mum. What're you doing here?"

"Delivery." He held up the box in his hand. "Molly in?"

"No, she's at a Christmas party," Kathleen said. "Aren't you supposed to be the all-knowing master criminal?"

"Yeah, but this was kind of an impulsive _drop by_," he said, shrugging and drawing out the last two words.

"You've got nerve," Kathleen muttered. "What's your real name, anyway?"

"Jim Moriarty," he said. "Pleased to meet you for real this time, poppet."

"Don't call me that," she said, irritated.

"Can you give this to her, then?" He shook the box for effect.

"How do I know it's not a bomb or poison or something?"

"I just shook it and it didn't explode," he said, smirking.

She gave him one of her Looks that said, 'exactly how stupid do you think I am?'

"Would you rather I came back when Molly was here?" he said, full on grinning now.

"Give me the stupid box," Kathleen snapped, sticking her arm out of the space between the door and the doorframe. "I could call the police, you know."

"They'd never fiiiind me," he said in a sing-song voice. "Nice try, though. I knew you were a smart one." He placed the box in her hand. "Merry Christmas and all that, poppet."

"Don't _do_ that."

"I'll taaaake you home agaaaaain Kathleeeeeen," he sang on his way down the stairs.

She slammed the door and threw the lock, and decided that there was nothing more irritating than a criminal who called you poppet.

* * *

Molly got in around eleven o'clock. Kathleen knew because she had camped out on the couch, watching the flickering lights of their midget Christmas tree and thinking. Toby curled around her feet, purring happily that someone was up at his favorite hour at the night. The box on the coffee table stared at her. She wanted to know what was in it.

"Oh, Kath!" Molly said, stopping in the process of taking her coat off. "I didn't see you there, dear. Merry Christmas, almost."

"Did you have a nice time?" she asked, eyeing Molly carefully for any signs that would signal not to give the package.

"Um…" Molly bit her lip. "I… yes." She kicked off her heels. "It started off rather rocky, but it got better, definitely." She nodded. "I'm going to have a shower, Kath; you can go on to bed."

"This came for you." Kathleen pointed to the box on the coffee table.

Molly picked it up and peered at. "Who's it from? It doesn't have a tag." She began to carefully peel away the tape.

"Your ex."

Molly looked up. "I never went out with Trevor, Kath. And if it's from him I'll pitch it in the bin –"

"No," Kathleen said, standing and picking Toby up, even though he yowled. "From Jim."

Molly froze, looking at the box in her hands. "Jim," she repeated dumbly.

"The criminal one. He looks much better now, by the way," Kath added. "Much hotter. I'm pretty sure he was faking the gay thing."

_Hotter?_ Molly thought. "He was _here_?"

"Yeah. I didn't let him in, though."

"Oh," she whispered.

"Open it," Kath finally said. "I want to know what it is."

Molly stripped the last bit of paper away from the box and pulled off the lid. Inside on a bed of tissue paper was a necklace with a silver heart as a pendant. However, it was not the traditional heart symbol, but the actual muscle. She could see all of the arteries and sections of the heart in the little lump of silver. Kath got really close and peered at it.

"That's really pretty," she said.

It really was. "I can't keep it," Molly said, moving to put it back in the box.

"Why not?"

Molly gazed at the necklace and tried to think of good, solid reasons. "Well… it might encourage him to keep coming back, or… or it might make him think…."

They both stared in silence at the tangle of silver.

"Did he say what he wanted? Or why he was here?" Molly finally asked.

"Impulsive drop by, he said. There's no way you can give it back. And selling it might made him mad," Kath said coaxingly. "Keep it. It's pretty. _And_ it suits you."

"Well…"

Kath said, after a moment, "He remembered my name."

"Did he?" Molly said, touching the pendant again, lingering. _My goodness._


	7. the wolf in the story

___lupus in fabula-_ the wolf in the story

"So where've you been, boss?" Sebastian said from his place on the couch, watching a rerun of _White Christmas_ on the telly.

Jim shut the door behind him and cracked his neck. "Spreading Christmas joy, of course," he said sarcastically. He had actually been driving aimlessly around London. "Did your sister like her gift?"

"Loved it," Sebastian said. He had an older sister in Bristol, and for Christmas, he had gotten her two Persian rugs and an apple corer-peeler-slicer. She had an eclectic personality and even more eclectic interests.

Jim watched the telly idly for a few moments before going upstairs without a word. The sniper on the sofa didn't move.

This was their Base of Operations. Jim and Seb stayed there permanently, and others came and went as the business needed. It wasn't a home, or even a flat. It was a place where he sometimes slept.  
Sometimes being the key word.

He left his suit in a wad on the floor and climbed into bed, but could not fall asleep.

Instead, he thought about Molly. Molly, whom he hadn't found at home earlier in the evening, but had spotted leaving 221B Bakers Street later. Looking quite pretty in a new black dress that did wonders for her. Even if the only one who noticed her wonder was Jim and that police inspector who helped her to the cab.

_Naughty,_ Jim thought. _You haven't even divorced your wife yet and you're moving in on my girl. _

His girl? He stared up at the gray ceiling and nodded to himself after a bit. Yes, his girl.

He didn't bother to puzzle out the 'why's. They usually sorted themselves on their own as he did whatever he had decided to do.

How to inform her of this new change would be the tricky bit.

He made a mental note to figure out when school started up again before sleep rose up to claim him. Since this was becoming a rare occurrence, he acquiesced.

* * *

Molly carefully covered up the nameless woman's bashed-in face and pushed her body back into its slot. She rubbed her eyes and thought of the paperwork she'd have to fill out because of Sherlock and Mycroft's visit. It was nearly midnight –almost December twenty sixth.

She and Kathleen had done Christmas in the morning, and it had been lovely, even meeting Heather and their mother for dinner. Heather had not talked about any new men in her life, and her mother had only made two probing comments about Molly's love life, or the lack thereof. She'd count that a victory.

Molly rubbed her hands on her Christmas jumper from her mother. She sat down at her desk to make out her reports and recover from the fact that she now knew that Sherlock did not care for her, and probably never would.

_It's no great loss,_ she told herself, shuffling papers. _He may seem intriguing and wonderful, but what if we did start –and I had to deal with him day in and day out. Goodness knows John always looks supremely irritated with him. And you know it makes you uncomfortable, the things he says. And…_

She buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath. If she kept on like this, she felt like she might fly off… whatever she was anchored to.

"That bad, hmm?"

The light, slightly amused voice didn't quite register at first, but as she peeked between her fingers, Jim Moriarty was the last person she expected to see.

He slowly sauntered into her mortuary with his hands in his suit pockets. "Look at you, Molly Hooper. Working on Christmas, naughty." He smiled.

"Um," was all she managed to say, watching him grow closer and closer to her desk. She had known Jim from IT was a lie, but not to what extent. She saw no comparison between the construct and the man before her.

"Did you like your present?" he asked, reaching for her neck. His fingers brushed the skin around her collarbone, and she flinched. He pulled on the silver chain, and the silver heart emerged from under her Christmas jumper.

"Why –why did you give it to me?" she asked, biting her lip. She didn't like him standing over her. But she wasn't sure if she could stand to face him.

"Oh, you know me, Moll." He flashed her a lopsided grin. "I'm just a _nice guy."_

Molly shook her head slowly. "I don't know you at all."

He made a mock-injured face. "No? Not after coffee at ungodly hours and Glee and rescuing your niece from an abuser?"

"That was all a lie," Molly snapped, frowning hard. "And don't you ever get near Kathleen. I don't know what you want with me; I don't care. But Kathleen has nothing to do with it and you aren't going to hurt her."

"Wasn't planning on it," Jim said, and his lip curled. "See, that's what I don't understand about you, Molly. You're docile as a mouse, and you probably couldn't speak up to save your life, but when it comes to her…" he trailed off. "You change. And I missed it. It's vexing."

"Some people bring out the best in others," she whispered. "She deserves it. She needs it. She hasn't got anybody else."

"Ah," he whispered, eyes dropping to the silver heart that he still held. "_Ab imo pectore."_ He let go, and it thumped softly against her jumper. "Come on, Molly, get your bag," he said. "I'll give you a ride back to your flat."

"Why?" Molly said.

"Christmas," he shrugged. "Kathleen's gonna be waiting up for you. I'm bored. I dunno."

"Why should I believe you?" she asked, staring up at him. "All you did was lie and use me."

He did not deny it. " 'Jim from IT' was the lie," he said. "I lied to everybody. And I used everybody."

"But me in particular," Molly pointed out.

He shrugged violently, hands in his pockets. "Yeah, okay, I did. But you were the only one who could actually stand Sherlock Holmes." He smiled. "Jim Moriarty will never lie to you, Molly Hooper."

"And who is Jim Moriarty?" she asked. She stood up and grabbed her bag.

"Let's find out," he said, opening the door for her. And she walked through it.

* * *

_**Ab imo pectore –from the deepest chest. Or, from the bottom of my heart._


	8. method of operating

_modus operandi_ –method of operating

Molly had gone into work early –some sort of double homicide that the police didn't want the person on duty (who was probably dead tired) handling.

Kathleen grabbed an apple out of the refrigerator and made sure she had her subway pass before she stepped out the door, making sure Toby didn't try to slip past her.

When she looked up, the only thing that ran through her head was, _Why is there a car at the curb?_

It was black and sleek and she knew next to nothing about cars, but it had to cost a lot. Then the back window rolled down and Jim idly raised an eyebrow. "Want a ride?"

Kath slowly walked down the steps. "I'm not supposed to accept rides from strangers."

"Brrrrilliant advice," Jim said, rolling his r's. "Keep it in mind when you run across any."

"Molly wouldn't like it," Kath pointed out, but she reached for the door handle anyway. She did not find this man threatening, and she didn't believe he was going to kidnap her.

"So tell her once you're at school," Jim suggested. He moved over to make room for her.

She scooted into the warm leather interior and breathed in the new-car smell, along with a hint of something like cigarettes or cigar smoke. Jim was again in a suit and had a briefcase in his lap. He was sifting through paper.

"If you kidnap me, Molly will kill you," Kath informed him.

"I highly doubt that, but I'll make a note of it. Sebastian, remind me never to kidnap Kathleen," Jim drawled. "Kath, Seb. Seb, Kath."

She peered into the driver's seat at the blond man with the square jaw. She thought he might be looking back at her, but couldn't tell. He wore very dark sunglasses. "Who're you?" she inquired bluntly.

"Sebastian is a world class sniper who also drives me places and does other unpleasant things for me that you don't need to worry about."

Kath settled back into her leather seat and set her backpack down on the floor. "You're irritating."

"No, I'm not." Jim frowned at her.

"Yes, you are," the driver corrected his boss. "Frequently." He pulled away from the curb and Kath grinned.

"Stop corrupting my help, poppet," Jim said as he started to smile. "Do you want to learn how to peel an apple in one strip?"

Her eyes lit up and she handed over her apple. "Yes, please."

* * *

When Kath turned on her phone at her lunch period to check her messages, she had a text from a number her phone didn't recognize.  
All it said was, "When are you done with school? –JM"

She texted back and said, "How did you even get my number?"

"Secrets, poppet. The time? –JM."

"I have extra choir practice after school. Our show is coming up. Probably 4:30 or 5."

"See you then –JM."

She stared at her phone all through the rest of lunch and reluctantly turned it back off when the bell rang. She wondered what kind of a game he was playing.

But she wouldn't have to take the subway when twilight was starting to fall.

_If he wants to make Molly like him by doing stuff for me, that's fine,_ she finally decided. She decided not to try to understand the mind of a man like Jim and just let things happen.

* * *

"Don't go mental or anything," Kath began when Molly got home from work.

Molly paused in the act of hanging her coat up and stared at Kath, who was standing by the stove like a soldier at his post. "What?"

"I _just_ said don't go mental."

Moly took a deep breath and reminded herself that she wasn't actually Kathleen's mother. "I'm not going mental," she promised, hoping she wouldn't. "What's up?"

"Jim gave me a ride to school."

Molly blinked.

"And he picked me up after choir, too."

"Err…"

"And it was _fine,_" Kath stressed, as the water on the stove began to boil. She poured the pasta into the pot. "Nothing criminal happened. He wasn't even weird."

"Why?" Molly finally got out.

"I dunno," Kath shrugged. "Maybe he's trying to get back into your good graces. But anyway, he said he'd pick me up again tomorrow. So I'm just letting you know."

"…'Kay," Molly said, as her mind reeled. She had _good graces_ when it came to Jim Moriarty? That was news to her. And he was trying to get back into them?

For heaven's sake, _why?_


	9. pick, girl, the roses

_collige virgo rosas_ –Pick, Girl, The Roses

"Our choir show is next week," Kath said. "You'll probably get something in the mail about it."

"Okay, I'll keep a look out," Molly said, moving to the kitten calendar that hung by the cabinets. "What day?"

"Wednesday night," Kathleen said. "Seven o'clock."

Molly penciled it in on the correct slot and hoped no one would die horrifically that day. "Do you need any more help practicing your part?"

"No, I think I've got it down pretty good. Oh," Kath said, almost as an after thought. "I told Jim, too."

_Does told equal invited?_ Molly wondered. "So… did he say he was going to come?"

Kath shrugged. "I dunno. He didn't say. I'm just letting you know."

"Okay," Molly said, frantically wondering if she had anything to wear to a choir show that wasn't her work clothes.

* * *

Blown away would be putting it mildly. Molly sat in the audience and listened to the choir, transfixed. They sang a few songs in Latin that she didn't know, but were very pretty, and then they sang a Disney medley and her jaw dropped.

And then they sang "I Dreamed a Dream" and "One Day More" from _Les Miserables_, and she couldn't remember when she had heard anything quite so gorgeous in her entire life.

Kathleen sang Eponine's part in "One Day More," and she looked very pretty in the choir's black velvet dresses. When the song finished, Molly clapped louder than everyone else, and when a man stood to give a standing ovation, she stood too, prompting a response from the rest of the crowd.

It was only when everyone sat down that she realized the man had been Jim.

* * *

"You were amazing!" Molly gushed when Kathleen made her way down the aisle when the show was over. "Absolutely beautiful! Wonderful!"

"Thanks," Kath said, smiling a little.

"Did you have fun? Were you nervous?" Molly hugged her.

"A little," Kath admitted.

"I took pictures," Molly admitted, even though the director had asked photography not be used. "But no flash, I promise."

Kath laughed at that and then scratched her shoulders. "This stupid dress itches."

"Well, you look lovely in it, but you can change when we get home," Molly said. "Let me take another picture now."

Kath rolled her eyes but held still.

They were headed towards the exit with Molly's arm slug around Kath's shoulders when Kath stopped suddenly. Molly followed her line of sight and saw Jim leaning casually against the wall, holding a bouquet of roses.

Kath shot a glance up at Molly.

_Is she asking me permission?_ Molly thought. She shrugged down at her niece.

Kath slipped out from under Molly's arm and walked to Jim, who handed her the bouquet. He said something to her and smiled, and then Kath nodded and smelled the roses.

He turned and disappeared out the side door, and Kath walked back to Molly.

"What did he say?" Molly asked.

"Congratulations," Kath said. "And I'm not allowed to hog all the roses, since you helped me with my part for the show."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "Did you tell him that?"

"Yeah," Kath said, looking at her oddly. "Was I not supposed to?"

"It's fine," Molly finally said.

Kath pulled a rose from the middle of the bunch. "Here, you can have this one."

Molly took the rose carefully and sniffed its fragrance. Slowly, she smiled.

Then she giggled. "Just the one, for all that training?"

Kath laughed.

* * *

Molly wrestled with herself for a long time over what to do about Jim. He wasn't "good" –he was a criminal, possible psychopath, and indirectly responsible for several murders –but he did none of those things around them, he didn't talk about his work, and he acted as non-threatening as Jim got. He didn't seem to _want_ anything; even though Kath thought Jim was doing it to impress Molly, she hardly saw him. He only picked up Kathleen and ferried her to and from school.

She had Sherlock's number, and John's, and Lestrade's, for that matter; she could call in an instant and they'd arrest him. Or at least keep him away. Try to keep him away.

Molly knew Jim probably had a myriad of ways to do whatever he wanted. Trying to keep him away probably wouldn't work. But Kathleen looked more cheerful when she came home, and she talked a bit more. Molly couldn't deny what she saw, and what she suspected. Except for one boyfriend who had kids of his own and Kath's granddad, Kath had been virtually ignored by all the men in her life. And none of them ever stayed long.

Kids with one parent turned out all right, but Molly knew in her gut that Kath deserved two parental figures –and for some reason, Jim was filling that role.

She did not know why. She could not figure it out. But he was doing it for Kath, so she never called. She didn't object. And she smiled shyly when he rang the bell.


	10. after darkness, I hope for light

**AN: Can I just say that y'all's reviews make my day? It's so great when you drop a line and say what you think about my story :) I appreciate you guys a ton! Here's another chapter for you.**

_post tenebras lux -_after darkness, I hope for light

Jim got a text at ten 'til nine on a Tuesday night that read, "Molly said she'd be home soon but that was 2hrs ago I'm worried –K."

He scratched the stubble on his chin and texted back, "Don't worry, Poppet; I'll get her home –JM."

She sent him a tongue smiley face in return.

He smirked and stood up, walking away from the desk covered with papers, photos, and blueprints. He changed out of his work clothes to a pair of jeans and t-shirt. He grabbed a leather jacket and his keys. _Molly, you work too hard. You're turning into me._

He found Molly in the morgue of St. Bart's, asleep at her desk on a pile of paperwork. He watched her for a moment before gently touching her head. "Wakey-wakey, Moll," he said.

"Mmmhng," she mumbled, pulling her head up and staring at him blearily. "Jim? What…?"

"Kath got worried, Molly," he said. "It's past nine."

That threw her into action. She groaned and searched around for her purse, disoriented. He pulled it out from behind a set of files and handed it to her, frowning. Her eyes were overly bright, and her face looked flushed. He pressed his hand to her forehead, and her skin burned against his before she swatted his hand away.

"Stop it," she said.

"Molly, you're sick."

"I'm fine; I just need to sleep," she mumbled.

He snored. "Isn't that what you were just doing?" he said. "Don't argue, Molly. Come on. I'm giving you a lift." It would be one thing if she was working late into the night and fell asleep, but it was just past nine now.

He managed to get her out of the chair and out of the morgue without her arguing, which made him sure she was sick. She only balked at the door, saying, "I need to lock up."

Jim flipped the light switch and turned the knob on the door. "Locked. Come on."

He was able to send a quick text to Kath to let her know he had Molly before he bundled her into the passenger seat of the car and drove off to her flat. She fell asleep again on the way there, and at every intersection that he had a red light he would turn to look at her, slumped against the window, illuminated by the traffic lights.

He loved her.

Part of it was the challenge. First, the challenge to snatch something right under the nose of Sherlock Holmes –something he didn't even realize was his, and watch his face when he found out it was gone. Then, the challenge presented by Molly herself: prove he was not just Jim Moriarty, the Liar and Criminal.

But somewhere along the way it just became Molly. The way she did her hair on the side and had so many different smiles –some quick, like camera flashes, and other slow, like a sunrise. Or the way she'd bite her lip while thinking. Her precision in her work. Her intelligence when she was given the chance to show it. Her earnest and unlimited love for Kathleen, and her _voice_ –she transformed when she sang.

Why was Sherlock boring, when he was just like Jim but on the side of the angels, and why was Molly fascinating when she really _was_ an angel?

For a while, he mused, pulling up to her flat, he had entertained the idea of peeling back that good exterior and attempting to excavate the blackness that he thought _must be there_ –but he didn't. Even if there was some deep-seated black inside of her goodness, he didn't want to break her. Then she'd be like him.

He loved Molly Hooper just the way she was.

"Up you come, Moll," he said, opening her door and shaking her. "Just a bit further."

She stood up unsteadily, and he picked her up and carried her into the flat.

Kathleen looked up from the novel she was attempting to read in order to stay awake, and the worry in her face left momentarily at their appearance, only to come back stronger. "What's the matter?" she asked, ousting Toby from the sofa.

"I'm fine," Molly said weakly.

"She's sick," Jim corrected her. "A fever or the flu or something. Go on to sleep; I've got her."

"I can make tea," Kathleen offered around a yawn.

"Nah," Jim said. "Get on to bed, Poppet. You've got school."

" 'S not my name," Kathleen mumbled, but apparently seemed too tired to care much. She disappeared behind her bedroom door, and Jim carried Molly to bed.

Jim peeled her outer layers off until he got down to her camisole and slacks –he thought she probably wouldn't appreciate him taking any more off. "Up you get," he said, swinging her legs up onto the bed and pulling the covers over her. "Sleep well," he said, before going back to the living room and slumping onto her brown sagging couch.

He sat there a moment, pondering the domesticity before calling Sebastian. "Yeah, don't expect me," he said. "But still come and pick up Kath for school."

"Oh?" was the only thing the sniper said, but there was a boatload of innuendo in his tone.

"Molly's sick," Jim clarified, rolling his eyes. "I'm staying here 'til she's better."

"Why?" Sebastian asked, like that was something undesirable.

"Who else is gonna do it?" Jim asked. "Just be here at 7:30 like usual and don't argue with me."

"Okay, boss," he said, obviously choosing not to argue any further. "Oh, your shipment of fairytales came."

"Bring them when you come in the morning. I'll kill two birds with one stone."

"Will do." The sniper hung up.

Jim spent at least three hours watching telly before thrashing from Molly's room reached his ears. He got up and poked his head in the door. He stood a moment in the doorway before taking off his jacket and shoes and climbing into bed with her. "Hold still, Moll," he murmured against her hair. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up to him. He had never been one for getting sick –illnesses always passed him by. She seemed to be going from chills to fever, and she was in the chill stage right now.

He tucked her head under his chin and counted the hours as they passed by. Sometime in the night, his eyes closed and he slipped off to dreams scented with raspberry shampoo.


	11. we follow the light

**AN: I'm so sorry I haven't posted, school has gone absolutely bonkers on me. Terribly, terribly sorry, but I hope you like the chapter! :)**

_Lucem sequimur_ –we follow the light

The faint blare of Kathleen's alarm clock brought him out of the dark. Jim eyed Molly's bedside clock, and calculated that he had gotten five hours of sleep. For him, that was pretty impressive. Molly shifted in his arms, and he sighed against her hair.

The faint bathroom and kitchen noises filtered through the walls for about twenty minutes before a soft knock on the door signaled a sliver of warm light seeping into the room. "You awake?" Kath asked in a low voice.

"_I_ am," Jim said.

She was silent for a moment, and then said, "I called her in sick."

" 'Kay," Jim said. "Seb'll be by soon."

"You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah."

" 'Kay. See you later." The door closed again and the room turned back.

* * *

Molly fully woke up some time around nine am. She felt like her brain had been in a fog. Or boiled. And as she snuggled closer to this warm body, she couldn't help feeling like something was a little… off. She pushed her eyelids up enough to register her surroundings, and realized that this was not a very pleasant dream, but there was in fact a body in bed with her. A masculine, unfamiliar body.

She squeaked and tried to wriggle out of his embrace, but his arms tightened around her.

"Don't move too much, Moll, or you'll fall out of the bed," Jim Moriarty murmured.

"Jim? What…?" she struggled to sit up and he let her. She watched him run a hand through his tussled hair and was thrilled to see both of them were wearing clothes. "What are you doing here?" she asked, touching her own hair and knowing she must look a fright.

"Kath was worried about you, so I came to the morgue and brought you home. You had a fever, but I think it broke," he said, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead.

"I remember that," she insisted. Mostly. Everything blurred after fell asleep in his car for the second time. "I meant what are you doing here, in my bed?"

"It seemed like the easiest way to get you to calm down and sleep peacefully," he said. "Do you want breakfast?"

Come to think of it, she was hungry. "Yes –"

"I'll get it," he said, slipping out of her bed easily. "Stay here, Molly."

She watched him go in his rumpled t-shirt and jeans, looking like the furthest thing from a criminal. She couldn't reconcile this man in her mind –Jim from IT, the awkward flirt and liar, Moriarty, the criminal mastermind in expensive suits and shoes, and this man, who took Kath to school and got in bed with her when she was ill and made her breakfast… she slumped against her pillows and scooted over into the warm space he had just vacated.

Toby oozed through the doorway and meowed. "Come on, Tobykins," Molly called sleepily. She patted the blankets, and he sprang up onto the bed, mewing for attention and demanding to know who had been in what was traditionally "his spot."

Moly cuddled him comfortingly. "It's okay," she murmured, "You remember Jim don't you? You liked Jim." She scratched behind his ears, and Toby began his snuffley purr. "We all like Jim," she whispered into his fur.

"What kind of tea do you want, Molly?" Jim called.

"Chamomile, I guess," she called back.

"I'm a good guesser," he said smugly, appearing in the doorway with a tray full of food.

Molly smiled slightly. "Or maybe the only other box in the pantry says 'Kath –do not touch' on it."

"Maybe," Jim smirked, setting the tray in Molly's lap.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Molly asked, staring at the multitude of toast and oatmeal on the tray.

"Of course," Jim said, swiping a piece of toast and settling onto the bed by her knees.

"Did Kath go to school?" Molly asked, starting in on the oatmeal. It didn't seem like a typical breakfast in bed food to her, but it was probably what Jim was able to make or could find in her still somewhat limited kitchen.

"Yeah, Seb came and got her. You're called in sick for work as well, so don't worry."

"The fact that a world class sniper comes and picks up my niece for school still scares me," Molly admitted.

"Don't let it," Jim said. "He only shoots who I tell him to."

And just like that, the criminal was back.

"You're so confusing," Molly sighed, staring at him. "One minute you're making me breakfast and the next you're talking about your sniper."

"Not if you accept that that's just me," Jim said. "I'm changeable, Molly."

"But if you're changeable…." Molly trailed off, trying to put her thoughts in order. "I still don't know what to believe, Jim." She focused on Toby, yawning as he sprawled on her sheets.

"Toby can be cute and cuddly, right Moll?" Jim said, watching the cat too.

"Yes," she said.

"And then he chases toys around and plays with catnip, and he's a wild thing, isn't he?"

"Yes." She was getting some idea of where he was going with this.

"And he can be standoffish and hide for a while." Jim reached out a hand to the cat. Toby batted at it, claws extended. "And he bites and claws, but you don't care when he does it. Why, Molly?"

"Because he's my cat," Molly whispered. "He doesn't mean it."  
"Why doesn't he, Molly?"

_Because he loves me,_ Molly thought, but she didn't say it.


	12. I believe so that I may understand

**AN: I'M A HORRIBLE PERSON I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW but I have to write other things for school and i forget and okay just read because I'M SORRY**

* * *

_credo ut intelligam_ I believe so that I may understand

After breakfast, Molly managed to take some medicine and migrate to the couch, but that was about it. Jim plopped down beside her and they watched an episode or two of Glee before Molly said she was tired of it –she had already dozed off twice, and she suspected Jim was suffering through it in silence that might not last much longer as he flipped through several books that Sebastian had left for him. Since she was sleepy, she told him he could pick what he wanted on telly.

He flipped through the channels before finally settling on a movie that was just coming on.

"What's it about?" Molly asked.

"You've never seen _Murder on the Orient Express_?" Jim exclaimed. He clicked his tongue at her. "Come on, Moll. It's a classic."

"I've _heard_ of it," Molly said, attempting to defend herself. "Isn't it a book, too?"

"Yes," Jim said, rolling his eyes. "By Agatha Christie."

"So what happens?" Molly asked.

"It's a mystery; you'll find out," he said. He put his arm behind her on the couch, and unconsciously, Molly leaned back onto it. He shifted her closer.

She did not fall asleep. From the minute the suspenseful montage about Daisy Armstrong started, she was hooked. She covered her mouth when Rachett's real identity was revealed, grabbed his arm when Poirout began his stern interrogations, and stared open mouthed as he revealed the identity of the killer –or _killers._

Jim spent more time watching Molly than he did the movie or mulling over the fairytale books. But he had seen the movie many times before, and work could wait. Molly's face was an ever-changing kaleidoscope of emotion that he didn't want to miss.

"That was _so good,_" she whispered as the happy train music began to play and the credits roll. "I can't believe it."

"Can't believe what?"

"Just… _everything._ How do people come up with ideas like that?" she asked. "That's brilliant."

"It's just something that happens, I guess," he said with a smile, having gotten many such 'brilliant' ideas in the past from seemingly nowhere. "You want lunch, Moll?"

"Maybe," she said slowly.

"Soup?" He pushed himself off the sofa and stepped over the cat at their feet to make his way to the kitchen.

"Sure," she said absently.

After rummaging in the pantry for a bit, he found canned chicken noodle soup in the back, and followed the instructions on the label. He could hear rustling from the sofa, but he waited until the pot was on the stove and cooking to poke his head back out.

"What're you doing, Molly?"

"Hmm?" She looked up from one of his fairytale books. "Reading. Why've you got a bunch of books on fairytales?"

"Research," he said. She wrinkled her forehead, and he laid a finger to his lips. "It's a secret."

"I don't want to know," she mumbled, returning to the book.

He smirked. "You're not inquisitive enough, Molly."

She looked up. "You just told me it was a secret."

"No, I mean… you'll let things stay the same forever. You'll never change them because you're curious or interested, or just because… you want them to change," he said, leaning in the doorway. "You're an old stick in the mud."

"I'm not old," Molly said in a small voice.

"You act like it," Jim said, a little caustically.

"It's called being responsible." Molly glared.

"It's called being scared," he shot back. He saw her flinch, and he knew he was right. "You're scared, Molly, so you're willing to keep the status quo. And if things change without consulting you first, you just adjust and move on. But you can't be like that forever, Moll."

"How do you know," she said shakily. "I could if I want."

"But you don't want that," Jim said firmly. "Otherwise you wouldn't be scared."

The timer rang shrilly, and he went back to the kitchen to stir the soup. Pouring it into a large bowl, he grabbed a spoon and some kind of frilly crocheted potholder before returning to the sofa. He sat down beside Molly and said, "Open up." He held out a spoonful of soup.

"I can feed myself," Molly said.

"Open your mouth, Molly," Jim said flatly.

"Jim –"

"Do it, Molly."

Her lips parted just a little and he shoved the spoonful into her mouth.

She winced and swallowed. "Hot," she yelped.

"Open up." He armed himself with another spoonful.

"Stop it, Jim."

"Molly –"

She snatched the spoon from his hand before he could shove it in her mouth. Some of the soup fell back into the bowl, though they both jumped as a few hot droplets splashed them.

"I can feed myself," she said with finality, dipping the spoon into the bowl he held and deliberately putting the spoonful in her mouth. Her chin was set, and her eyes were flashing, so he knew she was cross with him, but he didn't really care.

He grinned like an idiot. "Good girl, Moll."

She huffed at him and took another spoonful.

* * *

At last, Molly laid the spoon back into the empty bowl. She was pleasantly full of warm soup, though her tongue hurt a little from being burned.

Jim looked down at the empty bowl and thought, _no more excuses to stare at her mouth. Damn._

Well, he'd do it anyway. To hell with it. She had a perfectly lovely mouth.

_Is there something on my face?_ She wondered. Noodle, maybe? He hadn't given her a napkin. She glanced away and licked her lips experimentally, and when she looked back, he was still staring. Less at her mouth now and more at her as a whole. She felt her cheeks heating up, though she didn't know why.

A wet nose touched her leg, and they both looked down to see Toby on his back feet, peering intently at the empty bowl between them on the sofa.

"He wants to lick the bowl," Molly said, picking it up and placing it on the floor for the cat. He eagerly began licking up the dregs of soup, but stopped, seeming confused.

"He's used to me eating ice cream on the couch," Molly said. "He wasn't expecting soup…"

"He's adjusting well, then," Jim said, as Toby kept licking the bowl.

"Yeah," Molly said, looking up from her cat to Jim. His eyes were firmly fixed on her.

And he kept staring. She swallowed. "What, Jim."

He leaned into the space made vacant by the bowl. "Molly," he said hoarsely.

Why was her heart beating so fast, he had only said her name in an Irish accent and was staring at her like a thirsty man stares at water… she blinked rapidly and blushed again.

He leaned forward more, so close that their noses were nearly touching. There was… there was no mistaking this. And then he stopped moving. He just watched her.

_Criminal,_ her mind gibbered,_ killer, bad man. Not a great idea._

But he was really really close and he smelled really really good and he took Kath to and from school and gave them both flowers and took care of her when she was sick…

But she was scared, and he knew it. She could see it in his eyes, and in the curve at the corner of his mouth. _Is that why he's doing it, just to make me jumpy and uncomfortable? Just to mess with me–_

No. No, she wasn't going to believe that. Nothing he had done so far pointed in that direction. He honestly….

_He honestly wants to kiss me,_ Molly thought, and beamed.

She leaned forward until she could hesitantly brush his lips with hers.

He had only been waiting for her to initiate the kiss. He pressed his lips more firmly against hers and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, fanning through her hair. He felt her breath hitch, and he smiled against her mouth.

Somehow, her arms ended up around him and he nestled her head under his chin as he breathed in the scent of her skin and raspberry shampoo. He wanted to stay like this –with her in his arms.

Was he crazy, to think an angel would want to have anything to do with him? _This might just confirm Seb's suspicion that I'm out of my mind,_ he thought. _Or maybe she is._

"You kissed me," he pointed out, laughing into her hair.

"Yes, I did," she mumbled into his chest.

He pulled back and grinned at her. "You sound pretty proud of yourself, Miss Molly."

She colored up, but smiled. "Yeah, I am, a bit."

"Well, maybe you'd like to do it again," he said in a low voice, his eyes glowing.

She leaned forward, but then stopped, her eyes going wide. "Oh, I'm sick! You might have gotten my germs!" There was genuine chagrin and horror in her eyes.

He threw his head back and laughed so hard his chest hurt.


End file.
